


nothing else but us right here

by gudetama (elementary)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alpha Newt, Alpha Newt Scamander, Kid Fic, M/M, Omega Original Percival Graves, Parent Original Percival Graves, Pregnant Percival Graves, Protective Original Percival Graves, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-03-27 07:17:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13875915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elementary/pseuds/gudetama
Summary: To be honest, she isn’t objectively the best thing that has ever happened to him as many other omegas who mated young and grew large families have once said. But what she is—whoshe is—is someone he loves not knowing he had the capacity to do so.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started because I randomly realized after seeing an omegaverse fic a couple days back that a lot of accidental pregnancy leading to bringing mates together start off with an 'unplanned pregnancy' panic and so I just thought, okay, but what if they don't panic? So yeah. Now you got temporary single omega dad Percival Graves having a baby after sleeping with Newt during his heat and his birth control miraculously failing.
> 
> Thanks again [Alia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aliaaaaaa/pseuds/aliaaaaaa) for the title and scene (especially the ending!!) ideas :)

The knowledge comes to him instinctively one morning as the colours of spring fade into the heat of summer. It’s in his scent and the tension underneath his skin, the feeling of _different_  and _off_  and _change_. He lies in his bed and breathes, counts to a hundred then backwards down to zero. It’s useless in that there is no panic from which he’s trying to calm himself, and that in itself is the most shocking part of this revelation.

Percival rises to sit upright and looks to the side wall where a window would be if he were a less paranoid sort. Instead, it’s his reflection in a mirror, hair disheveled and the beginnings of a scruff on his jaw and up his cheeks. He drags his legs over the side of the bed so that he’s facing the mirror fully, then lifts the edge of his pajama shirt to reveal his stomach. It’s exactly the same as yesterday, and the week before—smooth and pale, the abdomen not as muscularly defined as it used to be when he was younger yet still lithe in that way his biology allows in order to attract a mate. When he touches a hand to it, it’s soft skin over a flat plane and nothing more.

Yet.

The shirt drops back down and Percival stands to stretch, groans as joints and stiff muscles protest. He then turns towards the bathroom and thinks about the day ahead while scratching at his throat where the two, three kiss-shaped bruises have long since faded.

He spares a brief thought to a certain alpha who must be thousands of miles across the sea on some other continent then starts getting ready for work.

 

 

They don't notice, not at first, because his scent is still very much his own and no one really expects it. Everyone who knows him also knows his strict medicinal intake to prevent such accidents even in the midst of enjoying his heat with a safe, willing partner.

Indeed, his brilliant preventative measures which seems to have backfired spectacularly this one time for some reason.

But while it does bring up the question as to why and how, it isn’t so difficult to accept that it has happened. He doesn’t believe that it necessarily has to do with him being ready since he would not have his supply of prescription in that case; rather, it’s more that this isn’t a circumstance that can be helped through worrying or regretting.

A memory slips to the forefront of his thoughts, a soft, confident voice pleasing to his ears explaining that worrying means suffering twice.

Settling into his chair behind the desk and shuffling the papers into organized piles for the day, Percival snorts to himself even as a smile unconsciously forms.

As time passes, he learns that it isn’t the easiest situation to finds himself in. Thankfully, he isn’t alone—the support of his subordinates is quite the pleasant surprise. It must be the pheromones that are affecting them to a certain extent, he realizes; however, truth be told, he can’t complain about the gifts of coffee alternatives, soft nesting material and even softer words of encouragement.

That isn’t to say others don’t talk.

An unmated, impregnated omega with no father of the child in sight is as scandalous as it gets in this day and age. Yet they are words that barely scratch the surface of his character and reputation, built as they are on the foundation of his irrefutable works within the DMLE. No one can complain that he doesn’t do his job when he performs above and beyond anyone else, not letting his condition hinder it, and planning and training ahead in order to have the department running smoothly in his future absence.

So through all this, though he may not have been ready to be pregnant, he is more than ready for the child’s arrival.

She's a tiny thing, blinking curiously at him with his brown eyes that she inherited and a tuft of copper hair softer than anything he has ever touched. She wrinkles her face and cries in hunger; so he puts her to his chest to feed her and breathes in the unique scent that is both similar and not to his own.

She is his.

The fact nearly floors him and Percival closes his eyes against the sudden sting of tears.

What he doesn't cry, his close companions do in his stead once they are allowed to visit.

“You may only have one father, but you are fortunately rich in aunts and uncles,” he tells her later as she falls asleep.

And as he listens to her breathe quietly, deeply, sign of life evident against his hand on her small back, he wonders about her name.

 

 

To be honest, she isn’t objectively the best thing that has ever happened to him as many other omegas who mated young and grew large families have once said. But what she is— _who_  she is—is someone he loves not knowing he had the capacity to do so.

When he talks, his girl gurgles nonsense in return. She stares with wide eyes as he sings her lullabies that don’t work as they are supposed to, cries tears in frustration and anger because he can’t understand her at times. Her laughs are something of a rarity, a quiet giggle at most, but she’s very generous with her smiles. They’re gummy and wide and utterly trusting, eyes curving beautifully in a way that makes Percival wonder at times. He doesn’t smile like that, and so the only explanation is that she takes after the other father in this way. As he strokes her soft red hair in her sleep, scents her and kisses her cheek, something nags in his mind about this same hair that belongs to another. How instead of Percival curling protectively around this child, it had been that person who covered his back with warmth and protection at one point.

Though he knows they won’t cross paths again, Percival thanks him silently because he has been given a gift he never thought he would ever want from an alpha.

A gift who becomes a constant presence in the back of his mind.

The first time he leaves her with someone else to go on a mandatory field mission, he fights viciously and efficiently, even more so than usual. He doesn’t handle the apprehending of the perpetrators personally and is actually concerned with the scent he bears from the scene of battle. Percival almost doesn’t go her when he returns; the chasm between the reality of his work and the ideal of her safety is almost one he cannot bring himself to cross. But as soon as she sees him, his daughter twists to escape the auror’s arms, reaches her small hands to him desperately. She comes to him and crosses that chasm herself to join where he is on the other side.

And as she whines and tucks her head against his neck, sniffles, Percival vows that this reality of violence and hurt will be made better with his own two hands that hold her so that she can face a future that she deserves.

He realizes that part of that extends to his work habits. His days from then on are filled with her fussy whining that tells him to stop looking down at the reports and feed her, change her diaper, hold her close. And she won’t let go when he does, grasps tight onto the fabric of his shirt with surprising strength so that most of the time he ends up sitting back at his desk with the bundle tucked against him.

The aurors had frozen and gawked when they entered his office to such a sight, but they quickly become accustomed to it. Some even offer to take her but she huffs and pouts and glares before turning away to lay her head firmly on his shoulder which secretly pleases him. With such comforting warmth in his arms, Percival blinks awake every once in a while with her drooling onto his chest and a blanket wrapped around the both of them from whoever had found them asleep.

His daughter smacks her lips cutely and sighs. Percival has a document scrunched in his hand from sometime during the impromptu nap.

He thinks his life is pretty good.

 

 

The most shocking part of this journey—Percival later discovers—was not his own casual attitude towards a life-changing event, but rather—

“You.”

The foreigner shifts, remaining by the doors of his office through which he just entered, glances at Percival then away. “It's Newt, but I suppose that will also do.”

Percival's memory isn't the greatest regarding his heat partners, more bodies to satisfy his needs than anything else. And they blur together after a while. This one, however, tugs something in his mind—unassuming stance, pretty, freckled face and awkward limbs, dull and battered suitcase against a bright blue coat. Then the man makes tentative eye contact and smiles a little uncertainly.

It clicks.

His eyes automatically go to the couch side wall where she sleeps and by the time he turns back, he sees the other doing the same. And he watches as this, this alpha go from perplexed to absent curiosity then thoughtfulness. The man sniffs. When the gaze drags slowly away from her and meets Percival's, his heart skips.

The look is knowing, just as Percival also knows.

Despite how he now recalls gentle hands and kind words, _warmth_ , Percival braces for the outrage of an alpha whose child was birthed without his knowledge, tenses for action should he try to take her. To his surprise, those green, green eyes skitter away once more.

“I'm not here on official business, Director Graves,” the alpha starts and Percival stares, waits. “Not sure you recall anything about the book I was writing, but it's pretty much done now. Final draft reviewed and edited, and now I'm simply waiting.”

It isn’t an explanation Percival is following but Newt doesn't say anything after that. So after a minute of an awkward silence, Percival asks, “What is your point?”

“I...” Newt trails off, glances up again. “I thought about returning home for a bit while waiting. I—I also thought about, well, you.”

Something constricts in Percival's chest. “My heat, you mean.”

“Yes—no. _No_. I mean, that's a part of it, I suppose,” the alpha hastily corrects, fidgets with the handle of his suitcase. “But mostly you. You were, ah, quite lovely, even outside of. That. I'm not exactly one for attachments—to humans, at least—and certainly not for carnal relations for the sake of it.”

Percival almost can't believe what he's hearing and he remains still as the alpha starts taking small steps towards him before stopping.

“But I found myself thinking of you from time to time during my travels. I think I was—am. Attracted in some manner—”

“'Some manner',” Percival says with much scepticism, crossing his arms as he leans back in his chair. “What exactly does that mean?”

“That I wanted to know more, that I wanted to see you again if possible,” Newt answers without hesitation. Then his eyes slide over again towards Percival’s child. “How is she?”

“Wonderful,” Percival replies a bit more honestly than he had intended.

The other questions aren’t posed, like _is she mine, how old is she, why didn’t you say_ , the unreasonable ones with obvious answers an alpha might ask to stake claim and display territoriality.

It's obvious enough: the scent of the stranger (but not so stranger) spreading in his office space, the one that had surrounded him completely and seeped into his skin in the duration of his last heat—the final piece of the puzzle that is his daughter’s scent. It's obvious, because they had parted ways not promising a next time, not expecting to ever be within proximity of one another ever again. Because Newt was a foreigner who had been passing through at the time for some vague business and got caught up in trouble that had him being marched straight to Percival to be dealt with. And after wasting days fixing the issue, Percival had found the shy but earnest alpha who has a special love for magical beasts (the cause of the issue) pleasant enough to offer as the date of his cycle approached.

To which Newt had replied stammering while flushing to the roots of his hair and matching the colour of it.

Percival remembers he had found it rather hilarious and cute.

He also tampers down any reaction to the memories that come unbidden of being fucked full to his satisfaction despite his initial doubt about the alpha’s... performance; they had been quite compatible, if he recalls correctly. And now, he isn't quite sure to whether to attribute the passive observation and tone of voice to admirable levelheadedness on Newt's part or a carelessness of sorts.

It has him asking, “What do you want to know?” in response to the man’s earlier reply.

Newt’s eyes snap back to his and they’re wide with surprise and bright with hope, and something strange stirs inside him at the sight. It gets worse when Newt smiles tentatively yet happily, mouth stretching wide and eyes crinkling at the corners.

Mercy Lewis, he’s either always this cute or Percival has some deep introspection to do.

“I. I was wondering, if you wouldn’t mind sparing an hour or so after you’ve finished for the day to—I don’t know—share a drink? Of the non-alcoholic variety,” he adds, nodding towards the still asleep baby. “And...” The alpha bites on his full lower lip, gaze shifting away uncertainly. “If it’s alright to ask for her name.”

Warmth abruptly blooms inside of him, the show of interest in the child and subtle acknowledgement of her being Percival’s. Not aggressively demanding but deferring to him as of yet her only father and primary caretaker.

The baby fusses then as she wakes from her nap and distracts Percival from his answer. He goes to her immediately and picks her up, leaning her up against his chest and shoulder comfortably and running a hand over her back, then again as needed. She sniffs and settles as she recognizes his scent, and only then does Percival turn back towards the other man who looks on like he’s enraptured by them. One hand is no longer on his suitcase but rather hovering in midair before clutching at his coat as though he changed his mind halfway.

It takes a moment before Newt draws his eyes up once more.

“Meet me outside by the entrance at six,” Percival says as he decides and cradles his daughter close to kiss the side of her head. “And I will tell you then.”

 _Will you wait,_  he’s silently asking. _Is it worth it?_

Because the point is not waiting another four hours, but allowing Percival to control the pace by answering but also delaying.

For a good half-minute Newt simply stares, maintaining his distance in a show of significant respect to him. Then at last, he nods wordlessly.

“At six, then,” he says, soft. “I hope you to see you there.”

And there’s nothing deceptive in the request, isn’t a command disguised as one. Percival exhales long and slow.

“Have a good day,” Newt waves awkwardly, gives an even more awkward smile and bows out of the room.

The door clicks closed and Percival huffs a surprised laugh, finds himself also smiling a little.

“I think it’s time to meet your other daddy, sweetheart.”

Artemis babbles at him in response.

 

 

**Bonus/epilogue/whatever:**

 

The worst part of everything is that Theseus finds out. Theseus who is his counterpart in the Ministry of Magic and Newt’s brother.

”I should have known,” the man says, sat opposite Percival and Newt in Percival’s living room. “I was surprised when I first heard it because you’ve always been strict about protection—”

“ _Scamander_.”

“—but us Scamanders are well-known for our virility, you see. And I think Newt must have truly liked you to lose his virginity this way—what are you doing, brother?”

“Removing you from the premises.”

“But I haven’t seen my niece yet. Newt. Wait, for goodness’ sake!”

“We’ll let you know when she wakes, Scamander. In the meantime, please go sew your mouth together so that you can’t speak when you return.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follow-up from Newt's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not exactly a long-awaited follow-up but I did mean to write this for a while and finally got the push to do it
> 
> also continuing the tradition of questioning the rumours of supposed virility

This is possibly the longest wait of Newt’s relatively short life after that one time in Hogwarts awaiting his verdict regarding the jarvey incident. Possibly as equally nerve-wracking, if not more so. As impulsive as he is, Newt still has his concerns for the consequences, only that he thinks of them after he already commits to the decision.

Percival Graves is one such decision—a passing acquaintance and temporary bed partner (Newt can count on one hand how many of those he has had) who had boldly offered him the chance to take his heat. It’s difficult to remember exactly what had made him accept, but his instincts agreed first and that was that.

More than the sounds of mating or the sight of the omega writhing in throes of sexual fever, it had been his soft beauty in the light of the last morning, a succulent scent beneath the other odours that lingered in Newt’s mind after he left. So much so that against all logic (that surely the other would have already forgotten someone like Newt) he had taken the opportunity to return to New York using relevant business as an excuse.

Needless to say the presence of a baby had caused all sorts of reactions within him—disappointment first which immediately turned into tentative hope when he caught a certain familiar scent; hope that he tampered when he saw the wary tension in every line of Percival Graves' body. Thankfully, he must have taken the right steps because he’s still here, waiting for a promise that may or may not be kept.

The scent reaches Newt first, something that relaxes and attracts him all at once and he’s almost scared to look lest it disappears; but there the man walks through the doors every bit the confident figure he is as someone of a high position, and even more breathtaking with the baby cradled preciously in his arms. The strong gaze seems to soften upon discovering Newt and his heart skips.

“Newt,” Graves offers in a curt greeting.

“Hello,” Newt fumbles out, feels himself turn red.

There's an amused quirk of the lips as the man notices and it's too easy for Newt to duck away. His earlier confidence escapes him now that he's facing the consequences of his decision and he despairs a little that it’s hardly a good impression for an alpha to make. A glance up shows Graves surprisingly impassive rather than put off, not even rejecting with his scent, and then Newt catches the baby's eyes.

He hasn’t given much thought to children, having relentlessly chased his dreams and focused on creatures more than anything else. A family and children of his own had always been more the interest of others, and so even with the possibility (still; he hasn't been given confirmation, permission) of having sired one directly presented to him, he isn't sure what to think. But he's curious.

She's beautiful.

Newt doesn't realize he's smiling at her until she returns it and his chest suddenly feels too small to contain his heart.

“We’ll go to my house,” Graves' voice softly interrupts the moment. When Newt looks up, he continues, “There aren't many places that will offer both safety and privacy this time of night.”

Under the charm of notice-me-not, they make their way through the streets. Newt follows a little behind, watches how the director takes careful but long strides and how his arm is stable around the child the whole time. The fact that it shows his care for her somehow leaves an impression.

The house is vaguely familiar but different; where it had been sparsely decorated and clean before, now various things lie around the rooms indicating something much more lived-in from pieces of clothing to bottles and toys. It’s reminiscent of his brother's home. There’s an atmosphere of warmth and not simply because of the fire started in the sitting room. Newt feels every bit a stranger amongst the scents permeating to all corners of the place, as father and daughter settle comfortably into their home.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he hears, ironically.

“Just water, please,” he answers when offered a drink.

While the man moves around tidying up the space and getting water, Newt notices the occasional glance his way, especially from the small one. Uncertainly, he wiggles his fingers in a wave and receives a snort from Graves. After that, he stays tight in his seat until Graves joins him on the opposite couch and by that time, some of the tension he first exuded dissipates. Newt mutters his thanks for the glass of water.

In the quiet crackling of the fire, Newt’s eyes are glued to his lap even as he feels the other's on him, observing. He’s doing it again, he knows, and sure enough—

“You’re a strange one,” Graves says at last.

Newt hunches in on himself further. “I—I know.”

He can’t quite hide the bitterness from his own scent. A strange person, a strange _alpha_ , because he isn’t overbearing and aggressive, because he didn't go looking for a mate as soon as he was of age, tied himself down to an omega and reproduce pups to continue his line. A uselessly romantic part of him had hoped he would one day find an equal who'd accept these flaws but that was a while ago, long before even his parents forfeit investing in his future.

The brief spark of hope that was rekindled by this man is also doused by him.

“I’m sorry.”

Newt blinks up, confused.

“That was rude and prejudiced of me,” Graves continues, meeting Newt's gaze directly. “I appreciate all your patience.”

And just like that, something uncoils in Newt and he nods in acceptance.

“It’s fine,” he says automatically. “No surprise, really. I'm not the typical alpha.”

Graves shrugs, as much as he can currently feeding a baby. “I’m sure you see that I’m hardly a typical omega.”

“But you’re quite beautiful,” Newt blurts out before thinking. “Handsome, strong, intelligent—I mean. I was happy when you. When you asked, uh, before.”

With a snap, Newt shuts his mouth. Merlin, he thinks his face might burst from heat. He might have reign over his instincts but he should exercise better control over his tongue. Graves stares with bewilderment but it’s difficult to read anything beyond that.

“Well,” he says after a few seconds.

“Please forget what I said,” Newt sighs, eyes closing briefly in mortification.

Nothing else is said for a while and Newt sips absently from his cup. He’s certain a silent assessment is taking place but without prior experience or interest, Newt isn’t sure how to continue appealing himself when he hardly knows about the man except that he enjoyed Newt’s body some time ago. Careful not to look at the other’s face, he sees the baby manoeuvred to lean up against Graves' shoulder and a comparatively large hand against her back, gently stroking downwards repetitively. It’s an easy, practiced movement, consistent until the child releases internal pressure built from eating.

And then she’s turned to sit in her father’s lap, facing Newt.

“Artemis.”

Newt startles at the low rumble forming his name. No... _her_  name. His eyes find Graves' and there’s something hesitant there before the man sighs, seemingly resigned.

“I didn’t know,” he explains, “only that she meant to me every aspect of what the name represents. It was only when I checked your permits a couple hours ago after you left that I learned of the coincidence.” He gives a wry smile. “I suppose she takes after you in some manner.”

There it is, the confirmation that Newt makes some part of the baby. Even if he had already suspected by scent, that didn’t give him the right to call her his when he contributed nothing but his seed. Now, however, he can acknowledge the resemblance—her bright curls and shape of the eyes mixed beautifully with the colour of her father’s and his nose.

“Oh,” he says through a tight throat. “I. Thank you for telling me. She's wonderful.”

She really is, such a happy, healthy, and beautiful child even only by appearance. It must have been hard to raise her alone, Newt thinks, but he doesn’t know if such a comment will be appreciated as Graves seems content with his overall situation. Not exactly in this moment, however, since a frown forms on his face.

“Do you not wish to hold her?” he asks.

Newt's chest constricts anxiously. “Did—did you want me to? I’m not good with children, I’m afraid.”

The look he’s given is an unreadable one. “The human ones, you mean.”

To Newt’s relief, the tone is one of amusement.

“Yes—that. Yes.”

For some reason, his answer changes Graves' scent to something lighter. Artemis—Merlin, that’s her name—watches him with wide-eyed curiosity and he’s suddenly struck with the thought that he might want to show her other wide-eyed things.

“I won’t ask for you to stay, if that’s what you were expecting. Artemis and I are family by more than just blood and your presence doesn’t change that,” Graves says, gaze turning utterly tender as he looks to the baby in his lap and hand brushing over her little head. “I don’t completely understand your intentions even though you’ve already said and the sincerity of your words remains to be seen.”

“Yes, of course,” Newt hurriedly agrees.

Graves raises his head again. “That being said, you’re free to ask questions within reasonable boundaries and any untoward actions will have consequences,” and the threat only buoys Newt's heart because now he has _permission_.

To be honest, Newt isn’t sure of his own intentions either; all he knows is that he had wanted to see this omega again and having achieved this, he wishes for continued acquaintance.

“You must be hungry,” Graves says. “I’ll have something ready in half an hour if you’re willing to wait.”

An invitation, which is more than what Newt asked for.

“Thank you,” he replies, and means it for many other things as well.

As if in understanding, Graves nods and gets up, and Newt watches the retreating back, the tiny head propped up on the shoulder. He wiggles his fingers again and grins when Artemis stares blankly in a way that already reminds him of her father.

 

 

Mere weeks after he sought Percival, Newt is no longer a stranger but a housemate sharing meals and talks, rather chuffed by the attention he’s given as he regales the man with tales of his creatures (after resolving any legal issues, of course). There’s an occasional tour of the city when time permits, but mostly they spend quiet hours in front of the fire, Artemis playing between them as they sip on tea or coffee before retiring to separate rooms.

Percival is as strong and handsome as ever, charismatic and competent in his profession and infinitely gentle in his care for his only daughter. And by some stroke of luck, that gentleness extends to Newt and grows even as Newt hungers for more. He isn’t scorned because he’s younger, because he’s different and chose an unconventional job—because Percival understands what it is to be judged based on biology alone and treats him with the courtesy that the other rarely received.

And Artemis—Newt still can’t believe she’s allowed to be his. He’s utterly fascinated by her—her large brown eyes and gummy smiles, the way her tiny fists grab his clothes and snuffles into his neck to scent. Of course Percival is the preferred parent (Merlin, Newt is a parent to a human child _how did that happen_ ) but little by little, she crosses over the gap between them and reaches out. Her fingers wrap around one of his and grips him like she won’t let go.

It's a slow progression, some might say, but for Newt it could be slower because he revels in every change he’s allowed to experience, the blossoming trust as Percival opens up to him a breathtaking privilege. He can’t fully comprehend what other alphas said about the complete satisfaction of having a mate, a family, but he does grasp that the company and interest of someone he finds attractive is a good, happy thing.

Then one day, Percival cups his face between firm hands and draws him to that lovely throat, gives him direct access to the scent that is becoming desire and comfort. It fills his nose and his lungs, curls around his heart and whispers a secret he won’t acknowledge just yet.

Not yet, he thinks as he wraps his arms around Percival and pulls him closer, inhaling deep.

But perhaps soon.

 

 

**Bonus/epilogue/whatever:**

 

Newt asks later on how Percival became pregnant in the first place.

“Not implying anything,” Newt adds hastily, cute face already troubled all on his own. “It’s just. I recall you mentioning preventative measures...”

“That’s—” Percival pauses, feels himself flush, because how is he to explain that the highly-reliable contraceptives failed just that once when Newt was his partner after all those years of use? “I do not know,” he mumbles, turning away.

“It’s fine if you prefer not to say—”

“No, Newt,” Percival interrupts, facing him again. “We actually _don’t know_. I used them that last heat as usual and it shouldn’t have happened. Not to say that Artemis is a mistake but she is truly an accident.”

Newt looks taken aback and glances at Artemis in his arms worriedly as if she understands. His lips then purse into something strangely contemplative.

“What?”

“Ah, well, it’s just—” and Newt trails off, also turning red. “I’m a Scamander.”

“So?” Percival prompts.

“We—the Scamanders—we’re known for our, ah, virility. So they say. My family, that is.”

Percival is certain his face says, ‘Are you joking’, disbelieving eyebrows raised and all.

“I’ve not really experienced it myself, but I’ve been told—anyway, I feel that it may have been my fault,” Newt says. “I’m sorry.”

Artemis’s babbling breaks through the inexplicable silence between them.

“I don’t believe this,” Percival mutters under his breath.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.”


End file.
